Wreck Me, Cowboys_A Reverse Harem Forbidden Romance Read online

  Wreck Me, Cowboys

  Coyote Ranch

  Book Four

  Alexa B. James

  Wreck Me, Cowboys

  Copyright © 2018 Alexa B. James

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, and events are entirely coincidental. Use of any copyrighted, trademarked, or brand names in this work of fiction does not imply endorsement of that brand.

  Published in the United States by Alexa B. James and Speak Now.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945780-24-0

  Cover design by Ally Hastings of Starcrossed Covers.

  Contents

  Wreck Me, Cowboys

  Coyote Ranch

  Book Four

  Alexa B. James

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  1

  Amber

  “Wait here,” I told the Uber driver who had brought me from Coyote Ranch to the airport. Before she could answer, I stepped onto the curb and stared at my ex. The boy I’d dated for three years—three important years. The last three years of high school, the formative years of my teenage life, from when I was only fifteen and still a kid until I was eighteen and a woman.

  “Amber,” he said, stepping forward a little warily if you asked me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, gripping the handles of my two suitcases. The last time I’d seen Charlie—when I’d been sober enough to remember—he’d been balls deep in the mouth of a girl I’d never seen before. So if he expected me to run to him and throw myself into his arms and sob, he was in for a rude awakening.

  The thought did hold a certain appeal. He was familiar. He had held me while I cried before. And I’d never wanted to bawl my eyes out as much as I did right now.

  “I came to meet you,” he said, thrusting the red roses at me. “Here, these are for you.”

  “Kinda got my hands full here, Charlie.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” He grabbed one of my suitcases and handed me the bouquet with an awkward smile. “Better?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here. I mean, I kinda can. I guess my mom sent you. And you probably agreed, because you realize your life is a giant boring parade of political dinners and homework without me around to spice things up. But to be honest, if you’re hoping to win me back, this is only a start. After what you did, flying across the country is like the tiny tip of the iceberg towards reconciliation.”

  “There’s a chance for reconciliation, though, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, glancing back at the curb. Praying, aching with the hope that Sawyer’s dusty red pickup would come rolling up. But the drive past the airport doors was nearly empty. Even my Uber driver had abandoned me. The bastard.

  I swallowed past the painful knot in my throat. I’d left my boys behind. They were not a part of my life anymore.

  I turned back to Charlie. “My flight isn’t for another three hours. Why are you here so early?”

  “I’d stand on the sidewalk waiting all day until you showed up if that’s what it took.” He shrugged and gave me that goofy, embarrassed grin. He seemed so young after being with the Westling brothers. Charlie was only eighteen, like me. Still figuring out life, like me. Still making mistakes, like me.

  But could I ever forgive him?

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “I’ll go check my bags, and then we can sit and talk. There’s got to be a coffee shop in every airport, right?”

  “We can’t miss it,” Charlie said. “This isn’t exactly JFK.”

  “It’s cute,” I said, frowning.

  “Don’t get defensive.”

  “I’m not defensive,” I snapped. What was I doing? Was I really going to pick a fight because he’d slighted a dinky little Wyoming airport by comparing it to New York’s?

  I sighed and shook my head. “It’s been a shitty day. Let’s just go in.”

  As we entered the building, I hesitated and squeezed my eyes closed before turning to check.

  Please let the truck be there. Please let it be. I don’t even care if it’s Waylon…I’ll hear him out if he just comes. It will be a sign…

  When I turned, there was only a group of college students shoving ski gear into a rental SUV.

  They should have been on their way to rent a cabin at Coyote Ranch. Now that would never happen. For all I knew, the guys would have to sell the ranch altogether.

  The thought made my heart throb with sadness.

  “What are you looking for?” Charlie asked. He stood just inside the automatic doors, which stood open, waiting for me. Beckoning me, like my old life. My old life back in New York, the parties and political functions, the friends and fashion, the lights and bustle of the city. It was all there, calling out to me. Wanting me back for one reason or another. There were a hundred signs pointing east.

  And nothing pointed west. Charlie had flown across the entire country, and the guys couldn’t even be bothered to drive a couple hours from the ranch. No one here was coming for me.

  I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and followed Charlie into the airport.

  2

  Amber

  In all the rush, I’d forgotten to check my email for the flight information. But we found it without trouble. I checked my bags, cursing my traitorous eyes every time they strayed to the doors.

  I checked into my flight, then headed for security. A woman in front of us was lugging a carryon, a diaper bag, and a baby. A kid was pulling on her and whining about her shoe being untied.

  I glanced back at the door. Maybe if we stalled long enough…

  They’re not coming, dumbass. Stop looking.

  I turned to face forward, closing my mind to the past. I was going back to New York. Not my old life, but to start my new life. My real life. This had been temporary just as I’d always planned. It was over now, like a dream.

  I showed my ID—the real one, not the fake that had gotten me into so many bars in New York. And then we were through. No more chances. It was over.

  My shoulders sagged as we made our way to a Starbucks halfway down the terminal. The airport was so small I could see my gate two back from the coffee shop. Charlie ordered for me. He knew my coffee order. Of course he did. He’d gotten me coffee dozens of times, and he hadn’t forgotten me. A stab of guilt went through me. I’d moved on, and now he was here, in Wyoming, willing to wait on the cold sidewalk all day in the hope that I’d show up and not murder him.

  Maybe I should have heard him out in New York instead of throwing eggs at him.

  We sat down at a table and sipped our drinks. Awkwardness filling the space between us like the sky filled all that space on the ranch.

  “So,” Charlie said at last. “You look the same.”

  “You look different,” I said, cocking my head. “Oh, yeah, it’s probably bec
ause there’s not a girl astride your face.”

  Charlie grimaced. “Listen, Amber. I’m really sorry you had to see that.”

  “Yeah, not sorry you did it, though.”

  “No, I am sorry,” he said, reaching for my hand. His skin was soft and pale, nothing like Holden’s giant brown, work-hardened paw that had covered mine so many times. I’d never noticed how small Charlie’s hands were. It must explain the sad little dick he had.

  “Well, at least you have the decency to say sorry and not try to explain yourself.” I pulled my hand away and wiped it on my jeans. “Unlike some assholes,” I muttered. I’d sat with my back to my gate on purpose, so I wouldn’t catch myself checking down the terminal, my heart stopping every time a guy in a cowboy hat walked by.

  Charlie nodded, his face serious. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I know that. That’s what I was trying to tell you that night, if you’d have given me a chance. But in a way, I’m glad you didn’t. It gave you time to calm down.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, because I was obviously very irrational to be pissed that my boyfriend was having a threesome without me.”

  “I could never do something like that with you,” he said, taking my hand again. “You’re the kind of girl I hope to marry someday. Once we’re out of college, of course. But we’re only eighteen. I’ve thought about it every day you’ve been gone. I know it was wrong, but there are certain things I think I just had to get out of my system. You had every right to be pissed.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t need your permission to be pissed. I went ahead whether I had the right or not.”

  Charlie smiled a little. “What I’m saying is, I made a mistake. But I didn’t want you to see me that way. I want you to think of me as husband material, someone you might want a future with. Not someone who wants to do…those things.”

  Suddenly, I felt sorry for Charlie. He didn’t get it. I wanted a man who wanted to do ‘those things.’ Not that I was particularly interested in adding another girl to the mix—I’d probably punch her in the face if she got in my way. But after having three guys watch each other go down on me, a threesome seemed pretty normal. It wasn’t like I’d caught him hogtied and hanging from the ceiling while a girl with a strap-on cracked her whip.

  “You know,” Charlie urged when I didn’t say anything. “The way I think of you.”

  I shook my head, trying to get the picture out of my head. I almost laughed, picturing things the way Charlie did. Maybe to him, what he’d done was the equivalent of the strap-on and the whip. It wasn’t as if I’d be building my own Red Room of Pain anytime soon, but I fully intended to marry a guy who liked me to ride his face on occasion.

  If I married Charlie, he’d want me to lie still and think of my duty to the country, like I’d thought Lidia did. Turned out, the guys’ mom was more openminded than my eighteen-year-old ex.

  “Oh, I get it,” I said, slurping my coffee so fast it burned the top of my mouth. I relished the scalding sensation. “So you have fantasies like every other human being, but god forbid you think I might want to have some fun, too. You expect to marry me, and run for office, and I’ll have to go to all the same shit my mother drags me to. And I’ll stay home being Holly Housewife, washing your socks and making you dinner, and once a week, we might have vanilla sex for ten minutes after Nightline. Meanwhile, you’ll go on the road and find some hookers to fulfill your every fantasy. Gee, Charlie, that sounds great. Sign me right up!”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Have your generic, vanilla flowers back,” I said, showing them across the table. “I should have thrown them in the trash can the second you handed them to me.”

  “I was kinda scared you were going to throw them at me,” Charlie said with a chagrined smile.

  “I might have, but I was afraid you’d call the cops on me.”

  Charlie laughed, and suddenly, I was laughing, too. The tension broke, and I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt lighter, letting it go.

  “For the record, I wasn’t the one who called the cops,” Charlie said.

  “That was so bad,” I said. “I can’t believe they arrested us.”

  “They probably would have just told you to be quiet if you’d gone back inside quietly,” Charlie said. “You didn’t have to start screaming curses at him.”

  “I wasn’t screaming them at him,” I said. “I was screaming them at you.”

  Charlie laughed again, shaking his head. “I’ve missed you, Amber. You’re so much fun. You’re right—every time I go to a party, it’s so lame without you there to liven it up.”

  As we talked for the next few hours, we fell into our comfortable patterns. I’d known Charlie for years. We’d always been friends and barely more, even when I’d wanted something else. It wouldn’t be so lonely in New York if I had him, even if we weren’t together. And maybe someday, I could forget what had happened as well as forgive. After all, he’d forgiven me for kissing guys in bars when I was wasted.

  And I had fantasies, too. I knew what it was like to be afraid to share them with him for fear of judgment. It wouldn’t even be awkward to be his friend, like when people slept together first. He’d never seen me begging for release or screaming with orgasm. He’d never even seen my vag. Sure, he’d seen me barf on a few occasions, but he’d always held my hair back like a gentleman. There was a reason I’d called him the perfect boyfriend all those years.

  Charlie sipped his latte. “When your mom told me you were coming home today, I jumped on the first plane out here. I thought about waiting for you at JFK, so you’d see me standing there with flowers when you came down the escalator. But I just couldn’t wait for you to get to New York before I told you how I feel.”

  “Did you? Tell me how you feel, I mean?”

  “I did,” he said, taking my hand. “I still love you, Amber. I never stopped. I hope, when you’re back in New York, you’ll give me a chance to be the man you spend your future with. A chance to start over.”

  I looked at my phone. No texts.

  Of course not. The guys never texted. They never professed their love for me in grand speeches, either. They didn’t buy me flowers. And even if I’d told Charlie a million times that I didn’t like roses, at least he’d tried. That was probably all they had in this shitty little airport.

  I shook the cold dredges of coffee in the bottom of my cup and held it up. “To starting over.”

  Charlie bumped his empty cardboard cup against mine. “Let’s start by getting on the plane.”

  3

  Amber

  My heart lurched against my ribs as I stood. It was time. I was really doing this. Saying goodbye to Wyoming. Going home.

  I tossed my cup in the trash and hesitated, looking down at the flowers.

  Starting a friendship by throwing away a gift didn’t seem right, though, so I held onto them. Together we made our way to the gate.

  I spotted a cowboy leaning back against one of the big, square support columns. He had his back to it, his shoulders pressing against it, with his head down and one boot up, the heel pressed into the support next to his other knee.

  I stopped short, my breath catching. For a second, I was sure it was Waylon, with his black felt cowboy hat pulled low over his forehead, hiding his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. But I crept forward, watching him warily. His arms were crossed over his chest. Those arms…

  “Waylon?” I whispered, too quiet for anyone’s ears but my own. It couldn’t be. He’d never have bought a ticket to come in here and find me. He wasn’t Charlie.

  “Amber, it’s this way,” Charlie said.

  The cowboy’s head snapped up.

  “Waylon,” I said. Okay, it came out more like a shriek. Several people gave me dirty looks. Waylon winced, his mouth tight as he pushed away from the column.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out for the second time since I
’d arrived.

  “Who’s this guy?” Charlie asked.

  Waylon looked Charlie over with a glare that probably made his already tiny penis shrink two sizes. “Who’s this guy?” he asked.

  “Well, isn’t this awkward,” I said, pushing my hair back with both hands. Which let me just say isn’t easy while holding a bouquet of roses. “Okay, Charlie, this is Waylon. Waylon, this is Charlie.”

  They glowered at each other with identical blank but suspicious expressions. Well, not entirely identical. Waylon’s was tons scarier.

  “Uh…Waylon Westling,” I explained to Charlie. “My stepbrother. I’ve been living with him. And Charlie Bontrager. You know. My ex.”

  “The guy who cheated on you?” Waylon asked, his eyes snapping to me, his nostrils flaring.

  I forced a laugh and tried to sound lighter than air. “That’s the one.”

  He turned his evil eye back on Charlie. “Why, I oughta put your lights out…”

  I grabbed Waylon’s bicep, which was tensed and oh my gawwwd so hard…

  Focus here, Amber…

  “No need for that,” I said. “We’ve made up. See? Flowers. His apology. Which, by the way, I accepted. No lights will be put out right now, please.”

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” Charlie said, sticking out a hand and turning on his mega-watt photo-op smile. “Thank you for your hospitality in letting Amber stay. Next time you’re visiting your dad in New York, look me up. I’ll show you around.”

  “He’s not a politician,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

  “Oh, right,” Charlie said, his smile faltering a bit. After a long, awkward moment in which Waylon did not accept the handshake, Charlie dropped his hand.

  “What’s going on, Amber?” Waylon asked, squinting at me.

  “Uhhhh…see…” I searched the ceiling of our gate for answers. But there were too many things I wanted to say—I hated him, I loved him, I was devastated by what he’d done, I was floored that he’d come.